No Rest for the Wicked
by Rainfox88
Summary: When a call sends Cole Phelps and Roy Earle to the scene of a predetermined Vice case, the investigation soon turns into something much bigger as bodies are piling and Homicide is called in. Now Cole has to work with previous partners to solve it in time.
1. Chapter 1: Partners

**No Rest for the Wicked**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Partners<strong>

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own L.A Noire or Rockstar. I also do not own Team Bondi, who did an amazing job on this game! I don't own any of the characters except for my OCs of course. If I did own the rights, Roy would have got what was coming to him, and I would have changed the ending a bit…Anyways, lol, I hope you all enjoy this! :) Oh and by the way, this story is rated M for all themes! Yeah, that's right, violence, language, sexual themes, and stuff like that! :P**

Sunset Boulevard seemed to radiate with an aura of glamour even more so now that the sun was started to dip below Beverly Hills. The Hollywood Land sign fed off the energy of the city from its view in the hills, bringing forth the change of day life to that of life at night.

Cole Phelps was quiet as his mind thought back on the recent case he and his partner, Roy Earle, closed. Roy was driving his red Cadillac Series 63 Convertible down the busy boulevard with the top down, and so Cole enjoyed the September breeze and the quiet. He could faintly hear the Andrew Sisters singing on the radio, but Roy had it turned down so they could talk or hear KGPL.

Cole's transition to Vice desk from Homicide had proven to be a bit more difficult to adjust to than from when he went from Traffic to Homicide. Mostly, it seemed to be due to his partner. Roy had his own way of doing things. He was much more aggressive than Rusty or Stefan, which Cole could approve except that it had already got them into trouble. Their personalities clashed. Though Cole had only been in Vice for barely two weeks, he knew it was going to take awhile for him and Roy to find a medium in order to work together efficiently. He remembered how it had been hard to work with Rusty some days in Homicide. The older detective was set in his ways, and it had caused them to clash a few times, especially Rusty's tendency to speak his mind so bluntly. But Cole and Rusty had ended up holding a deep respect for each other, and Cole could call the man his friend. Stefan Bekowsky had been his easiest partner to get along with so far, but that was a given for Bekowsky's laid-back personality. He was open to new things, had been a great teacher for Cole, and had proven to be very loyal. Given that Bekowsky and Cole were almost the same age, that had to make it easier. Then again, Cole had found it easier to get along with his partner Ralph Dunn on Patrol when he was in uniform, and with Harold Caldwell for the short time he was in Burglary. Though Dunn had been a stiff at times, he was a good guy. And Caldwell was just as loyal and easy-going as Bekowsky.

Roy Earle was a completely different story. Cole now understood Stefan's words to him on his first day in Traffic about Roy when he had asked if all Vice cops dressed like movie stars. Bekowsky had answered him that Roy was a movie star, and the whole seedy side of Hollywood was his audience. At the time, Cole didn't understand his partner's words. But now that he had learned and experienced, and climbed the ladder and was now working with Roy, he knew what it meant. Roy was a dirty cop. This worried Cole the most. He didn't know how he was going to be able to work like this. He wasn't just dirty; he was vain, cocky, sardonic, and highly cynical. It completely clashed with Cole, especially Roy's lack of respect for others.

But, if they were going to work together as partners dealing with drugs, prostitution, illegal gambling, and mobsters then they were going to have to get along and trust each other. It would be a working process, but Cole had survived worse through his time in Okinawa. His days as a Marine ended with the war, but that didn't stop Cole from moving forward.

"Alright, I can't take it anymore. Will you open your mouth and say something already?" Roy grumbled as he stopped the car at a red light.

Cole watched the traffic on the other side of the intersection move on for a moment. He even watched a trolley bus run along on its track, filled with passengers.

"Sorry, just thinking," Cole answered. "Where are you taking me again?"

"You sure do think a lot," Roy snorted, giving a half-smirk. Once the light turned green, they were in motion again. "The Brown Derby, if I can ever get onto Vine Street with this damn traffic."

After they had finished their recent case concerning the death of a man who overdosed on the Army surplus morphine that was still turning up, Roy had insisted on going for a drink. Cole had took him up on the offer because he knew it would be good for morality, and be good for them to get to know each other better, but also because he didn't want to go home to more stress. He and Marie had gotten into an argument when he got home late last night while still trying to solve the case. As much as Cole loved his wife, he already had to deal with too much stress in Vice, but she just couldn't understand it. Between the death of his good friend Hank Merrill, Sugar Loaf, and all those civilians weighed heavily on his conscience. Cole was starting to believe that Marie felt she no longer was married to the same man he was before the war. He had to deal with the inner demons every second of the day, but she could just not understand.

"Brown Derby, huh? I've never been actually," Cole stated.

"Not surprised. You don't seem like you get out much, Cole," Roy snorted. "Keep your eyes peeled though while we're there. Might get to see a movie star."

Cole sighed. "Right, as if you don't rub shoulders with them enough."

"Funny thing about movie stars is that they're about as shitty as everyone else, except they have more money," Roy said, turning onto Vine Street finally. He drove the Cadillac north.

"Why am I not surprised to hear you say that?" Cole quipped.

Roy chuckled. "Ehh, you'll find out soon enough. Hang with a few of them and you'll realize they are about as shallow and fake as the characters they portray onscreen."

Cole looked to his partner incredulously. "And what is it exactly that you have against everyone?"

"I didn't say I had anything against anybody. If I had the choice, I would switch places with a movie star in a heartbeat. They get everything handed to them on a silver platter. And they get to choose when they want to work and when they don't. On top of being rich, I must say that would be the life."

Roy pulled into a parking space once in the parking lot of the famous restaurant in the back. The large cream colored building was two stories tall, stylized as a Spanish-Mediterranean style building with a dark red trim around its doors and windows. The large sign sticking up above the roof was shaped like a man's derby hat, red with the gold lettering saying the name of the restaurant. It stood out on the whole block, and was full of all kinds of people. Cole shook his head at Roy's words and got out of the Cadillac, checking out the unique building with interest. Roy took off his fedora long enough to scratch his head before slipping it back on. He lit a cigarette and went to stand by Cole.

"See? Did that pushover or old, grumpy bulldog ever take you to places like this? I bet it was hard enough slumming it in that beat up old Nash, huh?" Roy asked, puffing on his cigarette.

"You still insist on calling them those names when they helped us out as much as they did during the Julia Randall case earlier this week?"

"Yeah, but who ended up solving the case?"

Cole heaved a sigh, letting it go, and started walking for the entrance. They walked around to the front, where there was a line extending from the main entrance. Cole knew it could take a few hours before even getting into the door. Before he could say anything to Roy before falling into the back of the line, his partner was heading towards the front.

"Aw c'mon, Phelps. You really think I'm gonna make you stand in line?"

Cole followed him to the front of the line, where a doorman was taking names. He was an older man, dressed finely for the restaurant in a beige suite with a blue tie. He looked up from his paper and pen upon seeing Roy cut in line.

"Excuse me, sir, but you are going to have to-"

"No, I don't think I have to. I'm on the VIP list, old man."

"Name, sir."

"Earle. Roy Earle. I'm gonna need a place in the back with all the other VIPs. I'm sure you can make that happen."

The doorman gritted his jaw, and barely dipped his head. "Yes, Mr. Earle. Go right ahead inside. You will be escorted to your desired area."

Roy smacked Cole's shoulder lightly, and the two men entered into the restaurant. A waitress escorted them into the back lounge area, where a bar and many tables were set up. A band was set up and performing while there was much laughter and talking going on from the VIP guests. Cole looked around curiously as they were brought to a table to sit down at. They ordered their drinks and were left alone.

"This is a very nice place," Cole stated, looking around. He caught sight of a very familiar and beautiful star. "Is that Betty Grable?"

Roy looked across the room, seeing the young blonde actress sitting with friends and enjoying their food and drink. She was dressed in a light blue dress, and she definitely stood out amongst most of the people here.

"Yep, that's her. The girl with the million dollar legs," Roy chuckled.

Their waitress brought them their drinks. Roy raised his glass to Cole, who was hesitant to raise his glass at first. They brought their glasses up to each other, and Roy grinned.

"To you, Cole. You are the pin-up girl of the whole LAPD."

Cole gave him an odd look. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Of course it is! Now, are we just gonna sit here with our glasses up in the air or are we going to drink…partner?"

Cole twitched a smile, dinging his glass against Roy's and the two men downed their drinks. The two men started talking. Roy knew just about everyone in the VIP lounge, and would point them out to Cole with stories. The clock passed its time, and it was well past midnight before Cole even got home.

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><p>The next morning, Cole had a headache from too many drinks, but he managed to pull into the Hollywood Police Department in his red Chrysler Town and Country and walk upstairs to the Vice meeting room. As soon as he entered the room, the ever bristly Lieutenant Archie Colmyer had a list of harsh words for the young detective.<p>

"You're late, Phelps! Where's that no good lazy sack of shit of a partner you have?"

Cole checked his watch, grumbling that he was only five minutes late, but not about to argue with the Lieutenant about it. "Probably late as well, sir."

"Why am I not surprised? Get your ass into the briefing room. Roy better get here before I start talking or the both of you are gonna have to answer to Cafarelli. You don't want that, do ya Phelps?"

"No sir," Cole answered, biting his tongue and slipping past the older man.

He got into the briefing room, glancing at the few other Vice detectives goofing off and laughing. As soon as Archie walked through the door, they jumped into their seats and grew quiet like school children. Cole eased into his seat, twitchy and tapping his fingers onto his desk. He mentally cursed Roy, and urged him to get here fast.

Archie was going through some papers up in the front. Just as he was about to start talking, the door opened to the briefing room and in walked Roy with a smug smirk and a hot cup of coffee. He noticed the dirty look from Archie, but was sly on his way to sit down next to Cole.

"Morning, Arch! You're glowing today!"

Archie closed his eyes, as if taking a moment to count backwards from ten and not blow up. The papers he was holding got crumbled a bit, but he ended up starting his speech with a renewed sense of business.

"I'm going to make this quick. Rossi, you and Sommers have to follow up on the narcotics found stashed in the basement of Ciro's. I suggest you get over there pronto, boys."

Cole watched as detectives Theodore Rossi and his partner Graham Sommers got up from their seats and left the room without a word. Archie continued, glaring straight at Roy and Cole from his position in the front of the room.

"You two. I gave you guys something easy so you don't have to think so hard. Get you're asses to Selma Avenue. There's a hotdog stand that has been storing more of the Army Surplus morphine. I've got the suspects here, but I need you two boneheads to see if the uniforms missed anything. Now get!"

"Can I finish my coffee?" Roy asked innocently, very visibly trying to engage a reaction from his former partner.

"Roy!"

"Yeah, yeah, let's roll, Cole."

The two men left the briefing room, and Roy led the way downstairs to the exit where they found his Cadillac parked by Cole's Town and Country. As they headed for the much fancier car, Cole glanced to Roy.

"Do you purposely antagonize him?"

"Oh yes. I have to deal with his shit all the time, the least I can do is make it rough on him a bit. Cole, is this your car?"

"Yes," Cole stated slowly, already knowing that Roy was going to judge his selection in vehicles.

"Really? I pictured you more of a station wagon kinda guy. Well, I guess this is better than the usual Buick Super or Nash. Still, I think you could do better."

"Funny, Roy," Cole sighed, getting into the passenger side of Roy's Cadillac.

"Let's go get some morphine hotdogs. Can it be better than morphine popcorn? We are on a roll with morphine food this week!"

"You sound a little annoyed, Roy."

"Yeah, sick of dealing with this crap. Archie is doing this on purpose."

He put the car into gear, and they started for Selma Avenue in northern Hollywood. The two men were quiet in the morning hours, listening to Billie Holiday on the radio. They were about a block away from Selma Avenue, when KGPL called in. Roy immediately turned the music down, and grabbed the police radio.

"_KGPL to car 11 King, respond."_

"Yep, go on," Roy responded.

"_You've been reassigned to head for west Hollywood Boulevard to a club called the Cat's Meow. Reports of a murdered male in his twenties carrying several syrettes of morphine . Homicide and Carruthers have already arrived and are in the process of investigating."_

"Yay," Roy stated dully, and dropped the radio into the middle console.

Cole had to hold on as Roy suddenly jerked the Cadillac into a U-Turn in the middle of the street to head back towards west Hollywood. There came several annoyed honks from civilians and Roy flipped on the sirens.

"Guess it looks like we get to mingle with your buddies again. Aren't you excited?" Roy asked. "But I guess dealing with a dead lowlife full of drugs in a nightclub as fancy as the Cat's Meow is a lot better than morphine hotdogs."

"It makes things more interesting," Cole stated, nodding.

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><p><strong>AN: Alright! There's the first chapter! The second chapter should be longer, and will explain more on what's going on of course! Rusty and Bekowsky will be just as important to this story as Cole and Roy! (Bear with me Roy haters, hahaha) I just been wanting to write this forever, and now I am excited that I started! I also got an LA Noire parody in the works, and it should be posted soon! So, let me know what you guys think, k? I enjoyed writing this first chapter very much, so I hope it was an enjoyable read for you! Thanks again! :)**


	2. Chapter 2: The Cat's Meow

**Chapter 2: The Cat's Meow**

Roy pulled the Cadillac into the club's parking lot after being motioned through by a cop. The whole building was blocked off for the crime scene. A crowd had gathered, asking questions and trying to see what was going on. Cole recognized Rusty's old Nash just a few parking spaces down. The two Vice detectives got out of the vehicle and started for the front entrance.

The Cat's Meow was a large one-story building that was mostly an off-white color with blue trim. The front double doors were red and had a fancy canopy over them for the weather. The club's name was stated in gold lettering on the building, but there was also a sign that stuck up from the blue, slanted roof that was shaped in the head of a cat smiling devilishly and winking with the name below in red. The sign was outlined in neon to draw in people at night.

Cole was impressed by the building as they neared the front entrance. "This place is a real eye opener."

"Yeah, it's the cat's meow," Roy joked, trying to pat down his cigarettes.

"Ever been here?"

"Ehh, I had to bust some prostitutes here a couple years ago. Damn broads were too dumb to bail when I gave them a chance, and I had to stay two hours later than usual to do the paperwork."

Cole rolled his eyes. "That must've been horrible for you, Roy."

Roy snorted. "You're such a boy scout, Cole. When's the last time you've felt like not giving a shit about something?"

"When's the last time you've given a shit about something?" Cole retorted.

Roy finally found his cigarettes, sticking one his mouth as he lit it. Cole opened the door and the two detectives entered into the club.

"I love to hear you preach, Cole. It sure makes the day interesting."

Cole bit his tongue, knowing better and letting it go. They slipped from the nicely decorated lobby into the main floor room. There was a large bar in the back, and Cole could see Rusty over there. He shook his head, slightly chuckling as he realized his old partner was not searching for clues, but instead helping himself to a drink. There was a stage for dancers, entertainers, and singers. A large area was set up for people to dance and enjoy themselves, as well as the main area where all the booths and tables were for food and drinks.

"I'm going to follow Galloway's example. I'll catch up," Roy stated, slipping past Cole to head to the bar.

One of the officers directed him into the back, where there were offices, dressing rooms, and costume rooms. The kitchen was on the other side, blocked off with a wall and only a door to slip between them. Cole finally found Malcolm Carruthers and Stefan Bekowsky in one of the dressing rooms. Cole took a quick glance around the dressing room, saw that it looked normal, with a large mirror with a chair in front of it with make-up and hair supplies on the desk. There was a large walk-in closest for all kinds of outfits and shoes, as well as another door that led to the dressing room next door.

The victim was laying face down, with his neck craned to where his face was looking to the left, eyes open and lifeless. He looked to be in his twenties with dark hair and eyes. His clothes suggested he didn't have a whole lot of money. There were several syrettes of morphine out beside his body, and there was a crumbled up piece of paper in his palm. Malcolm was still looking over the body, taking notes, while Stefan was looking at something at the main desk. He looked up into the mirror, saw Cole in the reflection and turned around.

"Well, look who it is. How are ya, Cole?"

Cole walked over to his old Traffic partner and friend and the two men shook hands. "I'm here, can't complain. Strange how we get pulled together again after just finishing the Julia Randall case earlier this week. Still enjoying Homicide?"

Bekowsky shrugged. "It has its ups and downs. Like how my partner has left Mal and me to do most of the work to get himself a drink. Speaking of which, where is your lovely partner?"

"Following Rusty's example," Cole chuckled, making Stefan smile and shake his head.

"Yep, sounds about right."

Cole turned to Malcolm. The coroner seemed to be finishing up his work, and was now standing up from the body. "Well, Mal, how's everything going with you?"

"I'll be better once I have a cup of coffee," Malcolm sighed, finishing up notes. He turned to the detectives. "Okay, this is what I got. The vic's name is a Richard Coon. Twenty-four years old. He's been dead since around 2 A.M. I would say. Apparently, it was the janitor who found him. The dancer who takes this room went home early last night supposedly, and no one else entered here until him…what we know of. Cause of death was the morphine, stuck into his neck by force. But I also found trauma on his back along the spine and ribs. I'm guessing whoever injected the morphine into him stomped on his body out of spite afterward. But I should find out more once I do an autopsy."

"Richard Coon? Why does that name sound familiar?" Stefan asked, going over to the body to get a closer look.

Cole followed him to check the body over himself. By this time, Malcolm looked like he was about ready to leave. Rusty and Roy entered into the dressing room laughing about something.

"Alright, what's the word, bird?" Roy asked, looking to Mal.

Malcolm gave a smile, his lips thinning. "I already talked it through with Phelps and Bekowsky. You can get the word from them. Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

The coroner left the four detectives alone to do their investigation before the body would be picked up. Cole kneeled down to get a closer look while Stefan gave Rusty a look.

"The least you could do was bring me one," he sighed.

Rusty clapped Stefan on the back, taking a drag off his cigarette. "You got two legs! No one's stopping you, Stefan."

Cole unfolded the crumbled piece of paper in Richard Coon's hand. The handwriting was sloppy, but Cole was able to read it out since it was in bold letters. It read: GUILTY BEFORE GOD.

"Guilty before God," Cole read out loud.

Stefan perked up. "Oh yeah, I remember now. I had this guy arrested a few years ago. He had raped and beat two teenaged girls and stole a car. He must not have been out of San Quentin too long, and somebody already whacked him. Well, no one will miss him I guess."

"You mean somebody killed a lowlife scumbag?" Rusty asked, surprised. "Well, he might not be that bad then. Maybe I'll buy him a drink when we catch up to him."

"Hell, let's give him a trophy," Roy said.

"Well, fellas, let's look around and see what we can find. I don't feel like sitting around here longer than I have to," Rusty stated.

"Here, here," Roy said, dipping his head and walking over to the walk-in closet.

Stefan and Cole glanced at each other, barely shaking their heads in unison. Cole continued to look over the body, while Bekowsky went back over to the desk. Roy went through the closet while Rusty went next door to make sure there weren't anymore clues.

Cole found Richard Coon's wallet, where his ID and address was found as well. He also noticed the crumbled paper with the note was written on the back of a sales receipt for a haberdashery off of Santa Monica called Roland's. There was nothing else on his body of importance.

"Nothing on my end," Rusty grumbled, then proceeded to cough after finishing his cigarette.

"I got the dancer's name who has this room. An Amelia Barter," Stefan answered, looking at a name plaque on the desk. "Guess we'll have to get her information from the club owner when we speak to him."

"Boy, did I hit the jackpot," Roy said, coming out of the walk-in closet holding a woman's stocking that looked to be full of something.

Cole, Stefan, and Rusty walked over to Roy to get a closer look. Upon inspection, Cole realized the stocking was full of small bags of cocaine. Roy pulled one baggy out and inspected it.

"Wow, this is some high quality stuff."

"I hope you wouldn't know by experience," Cole sighed.

Roy chuckled. "I should make you take a shot of this just for saying that. I've been in Vice for a long while, Cole. I know my stuff, it comes with the package."

Rusty turned to Bekowsky. "Was Coon a drug dealer too?"

Stefan thought on it for a moment. "You know, I think he was actually. Don't remember him in dealing with cocaine though."

"Good, then it looks as though the broad bought the cocaine from Coon, they somehow got into an argument and she killed him and hid the cocaine in the closet. Would explain why she left early last night. End of story, time for some coffee and breakfast," Rusty explained.

"Isn't that jumping it a bit too far?" Bekowsky grumbled. "We don't have the necessary evidence to put the blame on Miss Barter."

"How would she have known about the morphine syrettes in his pocket?" Cole inquired. "And would she have done the damage along the back? It seems if this had been an argument gone wrong, she would have just run for it afterward. The note and the battering on his back depict something much more. Hate…maybe even revenge."

Rusty glanced at his pocket watch. "Wow, is that a new record of you explaining your theories, Phelps? I'm impressed."

"There goes coffee and breakfast," Roy snorted. "Alright, boys, I guess we better get along. I'll call Ray Pinker, see if he can get a shoe print or anything off of this sap's back before Malcolm collects the body."

"I guess that means it's time to go question the owner," Bekowsky stated, heading for the exit with Roy.

Rusty and Cole were not far behind them. Roy slipped off to go find a phone. Cole caught his partner long enough to ask him to call R&I for Coon's arrest history and to confirm the addresses for Amelia Barter and the haberdashery.

Cole then caught up with Stefan and Rusty who were now talking to the owner of the Cat's Meow club. If Cole recalled correctly, his name was Robert Sunderland. He was in his mid-forties, handsome and wealthy, dressed in a suit that was easily $200. His dark hair was slicked back, and he had intelligent brown eyes and a mustache.

"Mr. Sunderland, I'm Detective Bekowsky, this is Detective Galloway and Detective Phelps, we have some questions for you regarding the body in the dressing room and one of your performers, an Amelia Barter," Bekowsky started.

Mr. Sunderland dipped his head, looking worried and bothered about the whole situation. "Yes, I'll answer all I know. This is very unfortunate to happen. This will surely hurt the business in more ways than one."

"The broad, Amelia Barter, what was her reason for checking out early last night?" Rusty asked, lighting a cigarette nonchalantly.

"I wasn't here last night, but my acting supervisor, Ben Haler, informed me this morning that Amelia left around 9:30 last night because she wasn't feeling well. It wasn't out of the ordinary. She has some…problems. That is, until the body showed up."

"Where is Mr. Haler now?" Cole asked.

Mr. Sunderland pointed to the other side of the stage in the main part of the club. "He's right over there talking to the janitor, Fred Gahn. The poor old man is still shaken about finding the dead body."

"I'm on it," Stefan stated, and left to go interrogate the two men.

"Mr. Sunderland, do you know the dead man in Miss Barter's dressing room? A Richard Coon?" Cole asked.

The club owner thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, I do not. The name does not ring a bell."

"Do you know that your dancer, Amelia Barter, is a cocaine addict?" Rusty asked bluntly.

Mr. Sunderland faltered, glancing between the two men and thinning his lips. "Yes, as I stated before, she has some problems. The only reason I haven't fired her yet is because she is one of the best. It helps her perform, she says. She says it suppresses her appetite. The poor girl is very conscious about her weight."

"Do you know how much trouble you can get into letting an illegal narcotic be hidden in the closet and openly used by one of your employees?" Rusty snapped.

"I know, I know. But she seems so unstable without it. I care for Miss Barter, I really do."

"Does a haberdashery called Roland's ring a bell, Mr. Sunderland?" Cole asked.

"Well of course it does. Roland Wolfe is my brother-in-law. Besides, his haberdashery is well known throughout Hollywood. Why?"

Cole and Rusty exchanged glances, and then Cole cleared his throat to continue. "We found a crumbled up sale receipt from Roland's in Coon's hand. On the back the note read: Guilty Before God."

Cole unfolded the note and handed it over to Mr. Sunderland. The club owner looked the sales receipt over and then flipped it onto the back to read the scribbled note in bold lettering.

Mr. Sunderland seemed genuinely surprised by the note. "This is very strange. I do not recognize the handwriting. The receipt was for a fedora, a tie, and a wristwatch. The total came out to $41.42. Were any of these accessories on the body?"

Cole shook his head. "They were not."

"Well, my brother-in-law has a pretty good memory, and I know he has a ledger for customers. Maybe he can help you figure out who this receipt belongs to."

"We will definitely look into it. Thank you for your time, Mr. Sunderland. We might be back for more questions, but if you come up with anything that could help us, please call it in," Cole answered, dipping his head.

"You're welcome, gentlemen. I hope I was able to help in your investigation. Good luck. Now, if you'll please excuse me, I have to return to my business."

The club owner slipped away. By this time, Stefan had finished questioning the janitor and the supervisor, and walked over to join Cole and Rusty. He had lit his own cigarette and was puffing on it.

"Well, get anything useful?" he asked.

"Not really," Rusty grumbled. "How about you?"

"The supervisor's story checked out, as did the janitor's. That poor old man was still shaken over finding the dead body."

"You think we should split up? Two of us to Miss Barter's house, and two of us to the haberdashery?" Cole inquired, looking through his notes.

"It might be for the best. We will cover more ground in a shorter amount of time that way," Rusty answered casually, half-shrugging.

"Speaking of which, where is Roy?" Stefan asked, looking around.

"Who knows," Cole sighed. "Let's go hunt him down."

The three detectives started to search the Cat's Meow club for the cocky Vice detective, and ended up finding him just outside of the main entrance smoking a cigarette. Cole was annoyed. Apparently, Roy didn't even bother to come back in and help them question the persons of interest after calling dispatch and R&I for information.

"Why am I not surprised?" Stefan snorted contemptuously.

Roy ignored the younger detective. "I got the broad's address as well as confirmed the haberdashery. Who wants what?"

Cole turned to Bekowsky and Rusty. "Go ahead and go to Miss Barter's address. Roy and I will check out Roland's. We'll catch up to you guys at her apartment."

"We might meet up there at the same time, because I'm stopping for breakfast. I need some coffee," Rusty stated, motioning for Stefan to follow.

Cole and Roy watched the Homicide detectives head for their car to depart. Roy chuckled softly as he and Cole decided to head out as well.

"That Finbarr really knows how to set his priorities straight! He's like the perfect role model sometimes."

Cole rolled his eyes. "Let's just hope we can find something worthwhile at the haberdashery. So far, we are not getting off to a good start in this case."

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><p><strong>AN: Well, it looks as though things are slowly starting to take off lol. Sorry for the wait on this chapter! I meant to make it longer too, all well! Don't worry, the chapters will get longer as the story progresses! Let's just hope that Cole, Bekowsky, Roy, and Rusty can all get along and work together in harmony to catch the killer...pshhhhhh where would the fun be in that? XD Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone! Have a good week! :D**


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